An open letter to lovers and their beloveds

Dear lovers (who brawl),
Why don’t you cognize that you and your other soul are from altruistically variant parental background and hence, are programmed quite unlikely from one another? This doesn’t bear the obvious interpretation of one’s parents ticking the right boxes and the other set of parents ending up in guilty paints due to incorrect upbringing of their son/daughter.
Sans judgment, you both are apart from each other and none of you need to rip a part from each other in conquest of being wholesome together. On one plain day, you struck the chords of each other’s hearts because you did something pleasingly stupid like maybe, kiss them or hug them and they couldn’t spit out gravel in response.
So they too reverted with something stupid no differently from other people and impressively, you burnt your hearts for each other from then on. Such was the fire that oceans would run dry if they’d try to blow it off, such was the depth that the thirsty crow would’ve quenched it till perpetuity and such was the exuberance that concealing it from the society would’ve been parallel to calling it quits from the human civilization. If then the differences between you both were so resoundingly fitting irrespective of their majesty, then why not now? Why now, is she no sheer ecstacy when she gorges on savoring delicacies sumptuously (and ill mannered)? Where did the captivation of his mesmerizing hair fade into nothingness (unkempt hair), all of a sudden? Why are his lethargic ways still not iridescent?
From exactly when did you enunciate alleging each other’s parents for those vagaries that once synchronized aptly?

Jump off that sinking ship which you promised to; if out of the blue things didn’t work in tandem. That time is now, and that person who committed to it is in you. You submerged that old self of you in your souls of souls and now only you can bury yourself alive with those clandestine and only you can shovel your way out with your ragged fingernails. Choice is deftly yours.

Our childhoods were lying, there is no thing as a fairytale. Love is loose teeth, love is a noose around your neck sometimes too. It is an array of bullets of “I made a mistake” and “I am sorry” whizzing past your ears at incredible speeds. Do not give up on him. Do not give up on her. You’re only few rounds in: the act of proposing, the act of being crushed by your crush and maybe that’s it.
There’s a lot left in your imperfect relationship because the act of coexistence is perhaps, the greatest play with inevitably elating dĂ©nouement in the world’s greatest movie theater.
Well-wisher of all.


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